


Time is Hard

by Serazimei



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, As in People who shouldn't have kids being forced to be responsible for once, Bound Family, Elias Bouchard Being a Bastard, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Kid Jonathan Sims, Self-Indulgent, Time Travel Fix-It, he gets better though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29712906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serazimei/pseuds/Serazimei
Summary: The Eye isn't happy with how the end of the world turned out. Neither are Jonah and Jon. There is no other option but to rewind time and go down a different path. But time is hard for The Spiral and The Web likes to meddle.This is how Jon finds himself back in his eight year old body with all his memories, some of his powers intact and a strange bracelet around his right wrist. Saving the world, Jon realizes soon enough, is much harder when no one takes you seriously.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael Shelley & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 23
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

This is how it all began: Jon woke up. It was kind of an anticlimatic thing what with the world much more than just on fire barely seconds (or was it years?) ago, the agonizing process of getting Jonah seperated from the eye enough to bring him to awareness to talk, the deal with The Eye that followed and the harrowing paths taken down one of the Spirals Domains, led by Annabelle Cane of all people in a horrible re-staging of Ariadnes Thread.

Martin hadn't been happy about the rather peaceful way things had gone. He had been prepared for a fight, not for an alliance. And he had been even less happy to be left behind, only soothed by the knowledge that they would find each other on the other side.

Jons last moments in the ruined world flashed by him seconds before he opened his eyes. He was calm but for a moment before he realized that something had gone very, very wrong. His body felt lighter, smaller. His eyesight was better. Not as good as when he had been a mere step away from godhood, but pretty damn good for the age he knew he should have been.

They had aimed for early 2016 knowing that the Spiral would probably get the year wrong in some way. But they had calculated one, maybe a two year difference at most. Not... not whatever this was.

Jon lifted his hand towards his face, furrowing his brow at what he saw, panic clawing up his throat. His hand was small, short, far too thin fingers unblemished by time and only slightly dry. Woven tightly around his wrist was what looked to be a bracelet, spun of spiderweb and... holding an _eye_?! Not a plastic or glass one either. Jon could feel the wet texture against his skin, knowing without the Beholdings nudge that this was the real thing.

It was a toxic green, staring up at him with what felt like judgement. And then it blinked and Jon let out a scream, scrambling back against the headboard of his bed. Not that that did anything. The thing was still attached to him and just came with, it's pupil moving about to take in the room now that it had been introduced to Jons frightened face.

A light went on behind his door, casting a slim sliver of warm orange under the wood. Jon froze as footsteps approached, a whole different kind of dread bubbling up inside of him that he hadn't felt for ages.

"Jonathan? Are you reading late again?"

The door to his room opened to an old, short woman clad in a faded white nightgown. Bleary brown eyes that flickered between annoyance and concern settled on his shivering form and Jon couldn't help but stare.

He hadn't seen his grandmother for so long. Hadn't thought of her for even longer and all of a sudden the pain of her loss tore into him like a butchers knife. Her eyes widened as Jon, usually so reserved, began to cry, great, heaving sobs wrecking his frail body.

She stood there, awkwardly in the doorframe, frozen to the spot and Jon cried harder, remembering her reluctance to care. He curled into himself, unable to stop the stream of hurt rushing over him, threatening to pull him under.

"Jonathan. What is this all about?"

Mrs. Sims took exactly two and a half steps closer, reaching out before thinking better of it. She knew how to handle Jon when he was bored, petulant or when he threw a tantrum. But this was foreign behavior and she did not know how to proceed without causing more harm than good.

Jon Knew this. And it was at least a little comforting to understand that her distance wasn't for lack of caring. But he too was out of his depth. He couldn't explain all the pain he had endured to come back. The horrors he had witnessed and that had been done to him. The sacrifices he had to make over and over again. Just to end up here, tiny and unprepared as his body shook with too much to hold and the sudden realization that he was all alone in this.

His grandmother inched another step closer and stiffled an involuntary yawn. "Is this about that book you told me about? With the spider?"

Ah so Mr. Spider had already left his mark. Jon thought distantly. It was as good an out as any. He nodded.

"Nightmare. Saw a spider when I woke up and got scared. Sorry for waking you." He was very proud that he had gotten through that without stuttering, even if his voice cracked on several occasions.

He felt the incredulous gaze of the eye from his bracelet and only just held back from sticking out his tongue at it. He wasn't an actual child for Christs sake.

"Ah. I'll go and make you a glass of warm milk then."

"With honey?" Jon dared to ask.

"Yes, I think we should have some left... somewhere."

She fled the room as dignified as possible and Jon stared after her unable to grasp her realness.

"Well." He said to the eye staring up at him. "That went about as well as it could have."

It didn't. This was a disaster. He had planned for Martin, Tim and Sasha to be there. To have a modicum of power and authority. But he was apparently at least eight years old, maybe nine. He'd had nightmares for quite a while after the encounter with his first Leitner.

This meant he was severely limited in what he could and couldn't do. Gods getting to the Magnus Institute was going to be an adventure indeed.

His grandmother came back before his thoughts could spiral any further, the promised beverage in hand. She leaned over to give it to him and carded a bony hand through his hair as he drank.

"Try to sleep after this and don't dare grab another book before the sun is up, you hear me? I'm going back to bed now. Good night."

"'Night." Jon mumbled back. He would have loved to throw himself at her, hug her tight, maybe cry a little more. But she wouldn't have liked that and Jon couldn't afford to act like a child now. He needed a clear head and a plan.

Jon watched mournfully as the light in the hallway flickered out, casting the room back into darkness. It was a good thing that he didn't need the glow of a lamp to think.

~~~

Starting up his habit of not sleeping immediately, Jon used the whole night to sip slowly at his milk while trying to make sense of everything that had happened until now.

Checking his calendar with the small flashlight he kept under his bed told him that it was the 23rd March 1998. So the Spiral had at least gotten the day and month right. The bracelet was obviously a joined effort of the Web and the Eye, although he had no clue what it did.

Trying to Know it only gave him static and a headache, which kind of made sense. He hadn't been able to look into the panopticon either and if this was an integral part of the Beholding than he probably wouldn't be able to look into it.

It did seem to have a life of its own, gaze sweeping around or locking onto him as though it was challenging him into a staring contest. Sometimes it seemed to change colour and then it would behave differently, but Jon had no idea what was up with that.

He felt the eye move on the point of contact he had with it on his wrist. It was disgusting and made him want to gag. And yet, in a weird kind of way, the physical presence of the Eye was also comforting. It told him that he wasn't just going crazy.

The next thing he tried was to reach out to Jonah. He had an urgent message to deliver and if he could spare himself the trip to London that was even better. That one failed spectacularly and gave him such a headache that he had to lay down for an hour or two before he could even begin to try and move again.

Alright, so he couldn't reach that far. Or maybe Jonah just had great mental defenses. Or maybe Jons child body was just that weak. Jon didn't know and he hated it.

His grandmother didn't drag him out of bed in the morning, despite it being a thursday. And it took Jon a hot minute to remember that Mrs. Sims never made sure he got to school on time. She was probably already out, doing old lady things. What exactly that entailed Jon had never known. She could have been a serial killer for all he knew. She definetly was out of the house enough for that and at this point Jon wouldn't be all too shocked about that.

He mulled that thought over. It would have upset him once. And there was a small twinge of a stab in his chest telling him it still wasn't okay. But right now her not being there was actually a pretty good thing.

It meant that he could skip school.

Skipping breakfast as he was wont to do he searched the flat for spare change, cracking open his old piggybank to scrape up enough for a train ticket. After a searching look out the window and a quick inquiry to the Eye about the weather in London he decided to throw on his thickest coat and take a bright yellow umbrella with him. He hated the thing with a vengance but he doubted dripping all over Elias' office would be the best first impression.

Buying the train ticket and boarding the right vehicle was easier than he had feared it to be. The Beholding was gracious enough to drop all the needed knowledge into his head and no one was suspicious or concerned about the little boy wandering about all on his own.

Settling in an empty cart, resting his head on the window pane he wondered about the excitement coursing through his body. With horror he found that he actually _looked forward_ to meeting Jonah. Or Elias. He really should practice calling him Elias for now.

It was just, despite everything he had done he was the only one he knew here, the only one who could even begin to understand. And if everything went well this time around he would be an ally. Jon didn't want to hope. He hated Elias for everything he had done to him, but he also pitied the man for what he had become at the end. Jon knew Jonahs story inside and out. It had been a tragedy stretched thin over 200 years, with too much loss and a rotten reward. A fitting end for a villain. Only that the line was just as blurred between victim and villain as in Jons own case, trauma, manipulation, hunger, love and fear twisting everything until there was but a scrap of humanity left within.

He was glad he had so much to contemplate or the over two hour train ride would have bored him to death. As it was it was barely a blink later when the train arrived at his stop and he scurried out with the masses.

London was a familiar blur and yet the size of it felt wrong. Jon was used to navigating the crowded streets and riding the tube in an adult body. As a child as small as he was the whole endeavor was nervewracking. He constantly had to watch out where he was going because no one would just look _down_.

He heaved a relieved sigh of relief when he saw the familiar imposing building appear in his field of vision. Only to nearly start hyperventilating because, _holy fuck he was standing in front of the Magnus Institute_.

The eye on his wrist rotated in agitation, desperate to know why they stopped so suddenly. Jon ignored it in favour of staring at his old or future work place. Tentatively he reached out to Elias again, hoping to alert the man to his presence. But the static that hummed in his mind was only his own, the rest dimmed by thick fog he knew belonged to the Lonely.

Jon grimaced. Ugh he had hoped not to walk into Peter so early on. There was nothing he could do about it, though. Turning back now was a big no no. There was no knowing when he would be able to come here again. His grandmother would surely have a strong word with him once she found out he wasn't attending school.

Taking deep, measured breaths Jon tried to calm himself down and crossed the street, striding purposefully into the building.


	2. Chapter 2

Jon hated being a child. He had struggled with the front doors when had worked at the Institute before and now they seemed like an unsurmountable obstacle. He had to throw his whole weight against the door to make it budge even slightly. And then he was grunting and groaning his way through inch after inch until he finally managed to slip through.

When he was finally inside he immediately felt eyes on him. Rosie was staring at him. She was in her twenties and looked objectively good. Healthy and less stressed than Jon had known her. She had an amused look on her face that she desperately tried to hide and Jon had to fiercely talk himself out of scowling at her.

"Hello ma'am." He said instead, walking over to the reception desk and standing on his tiptoes to be able to look over the polished hard wood.

"Hello young man. What can I do you for you?"

"I need to talk with Mr. Bouchard. It's urgent."

Rosies patented costumer smile wavered at the edges as she fought not to laugh. "I'm terribly sorry, but Mr. Bouchard is busy at the moment. Do you want me to pass a message to him?"

"No. It's rather urgent."

"What is it that you are here for? Maybe I can help you?"

"I need to make a statement." Was out of his mouth before he could think of his response.

Rosies cheery attitude didn't dim in the slightest. _She doesn't believe you._ Beholding whispered to him. _Oh she believes you saw something. But she doubts it was something truly supernatural. Children have such lively imaginations, after all._

Well that was fair...

"You'd want to go to the archives then, dear. Just a moment, I'll let Gertrude know that she's having a guest."

"I don't want to talk to Miss Robinson. I need to talk to El- to Mr. Bouchard."

A frown flickered over Rosies face, but she caught herself fast. "I'm very sorry, but Mr. Bouchard really is not to be bothered right now. I'm sure our Head Archivist is quite up to the task of taking your statement. Now if you would go over there and have a seat? She'll come and collect you in a bit."

Jon wanted to argue, but he knew that tone. A lot of people had to use it on him and then follow it up with violence and death threats for him to understand that it meant he needed to shut up fast or face the consequences. So he only gave one pelutant huff and stalked off to the plush chairs, hopping up on one.

It was degrading, how his legs dangled off the edge, too short for his feet to touch the tiled ground.  
At least Rosie didn't just pretend to ring up the Archives.

Waiting, however, had never been Jons strong suit. Sitting in moving vehicles was bearable, at least it felt like you were going somewhere. But sitting still? It was boring. And there was nothing to look at and his thoughts were killing him. Beholding filled his head with random trivia. The past ten people who had sat on this same chair, their names, ages and what they had been at the Institute for. What Rosie was planning to do for lunch.

It filled his head with static. It wasn't enough.

Jon glanced at Rosie to make sure she was distracted. She had gotten a call soon after he had sat down and was staring off into space as she talked. _Simon Fairchild was inquiring about the state of things and if there would be a fundraiser this year._

Perfect. Jon slid off his seat and snuck towards the stairs. He didn't need to wait for Gertrude to get him. He knew where Elias' office was. He just needed-

A lanky man came down the second flight of stairs Jon needed to ascend. Jon froze at the unfamiliar, familiar sight. Michael Shelley was wearing a comfortable bright orange sweater with blue and green flowers stitched into the corse fabric. Long blond locks were neatly tied back into a low ponytail. All his proportions were right, fingers normal, mouth shaped into a suprised "Oh". There was no after image, no too wide smile filled with too sharp teeth. His eyes were a soft bluish grey and they lit up when they landed on Jon.

"Hello there little man. Did you get lost?"

"No."

The smile he got was small, barely a lift of the corners and still Jon took a step back and nearly tumbled off the stairs, heart beating erratically in his chest.

"Whoa hey, careful!" Michael shot forward to steady him, letting go of the stack of papers he had been carrying in the process. "Ah shucks!"

The whine reminded Jon of Tims whenever his flirting was shot down by Sasha.

"You okay there?"

"Yes. Sorry about the papers."

Michael waved away his worries and the inherent wrongness of the whole exchange made Jon queasy. He bend down to help him collect the fallen statements anyway. He caught a glimpse of the eye on his bracelet. It seemed just as disorientated by this undistorted version of Michael as he was.

"I'm sorry if that sounds rude, but you seem a bit jumpy. Are you perhaps here to make a statement?" Michael asked after all the papers had been gathered and tugged securily back under his arm.

"I- Yes." No point in lying, Jon doubted Michael would let him run free at this point.

"You've gone in the wrong direction then. Come on I'll show you to the Archives. I was just going down there myself. I'm Michael by the way. I work here as an assistant. There's no need to be nervous really. You'll love Gertrude, she's a sweet old lady. Try to stay clear of Emma though. That woman is scary."

Michael prattled on as he led him back down, waving at Rosie as they passed her, a hand on Jons shoulder guiding him further into the bowels of the Institute.

Jon shuddered at the touch even though it was gentle. He wanted to shrug it off, run as far away from the man that would become the Distortion as possible. But that would have been rude, so Jon endured the touch.

"Finally! Do you have the statements from research or did you just take a very long toilet break?"

The woman with the auburn hair sitting at the desk in the middle of the room didn't even look up from the folder that lay open in front of her. Jon could see her brushing away a cobweb from her hair, although he doubted she noticed what she was doing.

"Yes! I mean to the statements. All handed back in without a fuss and ready to be sorted."

"Suuure. Who's that?"

"Oh, this is- ah."

"I'm Jonathan Sims. I'm here to make a statement." He was getting really tired of having to say that.

Emma looked doubtful. "Okay. If you can be quiet you can wait here. Miss Robinson is recording a statement at the moment. She'll be ready for you in a bit."

Michael must have seen something that betrayed Jons displeasure, because he nudged him with a smile.

"Come on I'll show you the break room. How about I'll make you some tea? Or would you rather have some hot chocolate?"

"Michael don't you dare slack off now."

Michael set the stack of statements on his side of the desk, the picture of innocence. "I'm entertaining our guest! That's important work, too."

Emma scoffed. "Of course. You tell yourself that. Go and make me some tea too while you're at it then."

"Yes ma'am!"

Jon fought down tears at the domestic interaction, painfully reminded of Tim and Sashas bantering during work hours. He missed them both so terribly. He hoped that this time around he'll get to see them again, maybe even befriend them.

First he had to talk to Elias.

"Jonathan are you coming?"

Jon winced and turned to follow Michael into the breakroom. "Please call me Jon?"

"No problem, Jon. Now please tell me you want hot chocolate. I've been craving a cup for myself, but Emma wouldn't let me hear the end of it if she'd caught me with one. Drinking one with you in silent solidarity would be the perfect excuse, what do you think?"

Jon thought that this Michael was much, much nicer than the Distortion, if a little weird and way too chatty. That was probably not what he wanted to hear, though. Hot chocolate sounded like a good idea. Tea had to be prepared by Martin or not at all.

Michael was delighted at his choice. And the chocolate was quite nice, too.

"Soooo what do you think of the Institute so far?"

Jon shrugs. "It tries a little too hard." Jon had always found the dark academia look to be a bit too much. Especially when everything was a mess behind closed doors. Even Elias' office was a disaster. The man had letters and knick knacks and books scattered around everywhere as though he was sitting in a gaint owls nest.

"Pfff. I mean yeah, I see that. I'm glad you don't find it too spooky. Especially the archives can get a little... ah... menacing, sometimes."

Jon scowled at the horrible s-word and nearly said something about the whole thing being a fear temple before catching himself. Michael wouldn't know what he was talking about. He should still be fully in the dark about any of the powers existing.

"It's just a bit dingy, I've seen worse."

Michael shot him a pensive look. "I'm sorry to hear that, kid."

"Not a kid." Jon mumbled at the same time as Emma called "Michael!"

"Oh that's our cue. Come on Gertrude is probably ready to take your statement now."

Jon trudged after him and debated if it would be possible to bolt upstairs and to Elias' office before anyone could stop him. He doubted it. Curse his short legs.

_Elias!_ He shouted in his mind, careful to not let any of the static in his head out. _Your Archive wants to speak to you! Come down here and pick me up right now!_

Cold fog intercepted his call, his voice getting swallowed up by the Lonely. Jon scowled harder, fucking Peter. He hated the Lukases and their patron. Everything always got lost in the fog. How Elias dealt with his dulled senses was a mystery to him. It was a damn inconvience is what it was.

Well it had been worth a try...

Emma made delighted noise as Michael brought her, her tea. The door to Jons former/future office stood open, an older woman standing in the doorway. Jon had only ever seen her as a corpse and in photos, but even then she had been older.

The Gertrude that waited for him with a patient smile and sharp, burning eyes was maybe at the end of her fourties or early fifties, greying brown hair artfully tied to a high bun. Her wrinkles obviously hadn't come from laughter but stress. She was wearing rather thin clothes for the temperature in the Archives and was leaning on a cane that Jon would later, much later use himself.

"Ah the young gentleman. Come in, come in. I hope Michael and Emma were good to you?"

Gertrude stepped into her office and even though her back was turned Jon felt as though he was still being watched, seized up. He quickly closed his additional eyes, the stream of commentary from the Eye quietening down. Jon wasn't sure how much power she had, fully fledged avatar or not. Better safe than sorry.

Clutching the mug like a lifeline Jon followed her, casting a longing look back at Michael, who gave him a grin and a thumbs up.

The door closed behind him and Gertrude hobbled over to sit down at her desk with a groan and the popping of joints.

"Take a seat, Jon. That's your preferred nickname, yes?"

"Yes." Jon hopped on the chair opposite her. It was harder than he expected. Uncomfortable. He needed to change that when he was in charge again. No need harming their statement givers more than they already had been.

No, shush, Jon couldn't think like that now. Not when he didn't know if Gertrude could read his thoughts.

"Do you want to take a moment, dear?"

"No. I'd like to make my statement now."

"Alright."

Jon blinked at her for a few seconds. He would have thought she'd give him a form to fill out, given that life statements definitely led to nightmares even in the fledgling stages of becoming an Archivist. But Gertrude just looked at him, watched him, something calculating behind her kind facade.

Her gaze was fixed on the bracelet, staring into the piercing green eye that looked back at her with just as much frevor. Self consciously Jon tugged the hand between his thighs, clasping his other hand over what peeked out. The eye underneath his palm rotated and twitched frantically and Jon grimaced at the icky feeling.

A tape recorder that hadn't been there before clicked on and Jon guessed that he really should just get it over with before any more weird things happened.

"Okay I'm ready."

Gertrude nodded, frowning at the recorder. "Statement of Jonathan Sims, 23rd March 1998 about?"

Jon took a deep breath. "A book about a spider."

"Statement taken direct from subject, by Gertrude Robinson, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute."

She tilted her head in his direction and so he began his tale. The wording was exactly as it had been when he had first recorded it for himself and as last time the crawling horror of it all gripped him tight and threatened to drag him into a panic attack. Only the Archivists powers kept the whirlpool of terror at bay. He was still panting when he finished, shivering all over.

Gertrudes gaze was pitying, but only superficially. Jon knew enough about her to not trust what he saw with his two human eyes.

"Do you believe me?" he asked to break the silence, already knowing the answer even if she refused to say it.

"I believe that you had a very traumatic experience, yes. And I'd encourage your grandmother to schedule an appointment with a therapist. Those things, left untreated, can fester. I'm sorry this happened to you."

"Will you follow it up?"

"We will, yes."

Nothing about keeping him updated. Which was probably fair given that he presented as a child at the moment.

"Okay. Can I stay a little longer? I don't feel so good." Not even a lie. Which was good because he sucked at lying.

"Of course. Have Michael prepare you another cup." She stood to open the door for him, but ended up more or less blocking the only exit when she stopped. "Tell me one more thing, though. _Where did you get that bracelet?_ "

Jon shuddered at the wave of compulsion coursing through him and tugging at his tongue. Fuck Elias had been right, this _did_ feel good. It was also a very mild compulsion, which Jon would have no problem shaking off. If he wanted to be even more suspicious, that is.

"I just woke up with it today. It's a bit creepy, but also weirdly comforting? So I decided to keep it. It seems important."

"Hm..."

They stepped out of the office together, Gertrude close behind him, but thankfully not touching him.

"Michael? Be a dear and keep young Jonathan here a bit of company while he calms down."

"Yes ma'am!" Michael sprung up immediately, eager to get away from his paperwork, earning a scoff from Emma, who had her eyes glued to one of the statements.

"And would you be so kind and guide Jon home when he is ready? I don't feel good about him wandering about on his own in that state of his."

Michaels gaze turned unbearably soft and he waited until Jon had walked over to him to place a hand on his shoulder again, squeezing lightly in silent comfort. Jon decided he rather liked Michael. The same could not be said about Gertrude.

"Of course. Come on, how about we get out of this dingy archive and make ourselves a nice day? Do you need anything from town Mrs. Robinson?"

She shook her head, then paused, considering. "Ah I think we're running out of sugar and honey. If you could be so kind as to get more, that would be lovely."

Michael sighed. "You're going to destroy your teeth if you keep adding so much to your tea, Mrs. Robinson."

"I need the energy. Or do you want me to take a nap every few hours?"

Michael huffed. "I guess Mr. Bouchard wouldn't like that. I'll be sure to get some on my way back."

"Good boy. Thank you."

Michael beamed at the praise as though he was a real dog and something dropped in Jons stomach, his anthipathy regarding Gertrude climbing ever higher.

"What did I tell you, isn't she sweet?"

Just because she drinks an abomination that could barely be identified as tea (Who put sugar _and_ honey in their beverage? And then failed to add milk?), didn't mean she was made of the stuff. Jon thought grimly.

"I don't know." he opted to stay neutral, but Michael hadn't heard him anyway.

He chattered on, hand never straying from Jons shoulder, guiding him to the little café across the street that Sasha and Tim usually had gotten their morning coffee from back when everything had still been... not okay... but dormant. Weirdly enough being touched that way didn't feel stiffling anymore. It was hard to see the Distortion in Michael at the moment, with him currently being the furthest from malevolent as humanly possible.

"I fear for her health a lot. She's just so frail, you know?"

"She seemed pretty sturdy to me." Jon grumbled, anger bubbling up within him on Michaels behalf.

He knew he hadn't been a great boss, no matter at what point in his... transformation. He had lied to his assistants, kept secrets from them and even stalked them. But at least he had never consciously fed one of them to a freaking fear entity or mutilated their corpse to preserve information.

Anyway the woman wasn't even in her sixties yet. She wasn't that old.

Michael ordered a double chocolate mix with extra cream and sprinkles for the both of them that gave Jon cavities by merely sniffing at it. It was the best thing he had gotten in ages, Martins tea not withstanding.

They found two seats at the large window, staring out at the people and cars passing by. Jon could see that Michael wanted to ask him something, but didn't know if he should. The young man was oddly expressive. Not in the exaggerated why that the Distortion had been. His facial expressions stayed in the normal bounds of reality. But his eyebrows twitched and jumped in thought. And he worried his lip in an anxious manner Jon knew all too well.

Jon used the silence to try and reach out to Elias again, with the same result.

"So have you been to London before?" Michael was talking to him as he would to an adult. Jon appreciated that. 

"No." Not at this point in time, at least.

"Do you want to go somewhere maybe?"

"Are there any good bookshops around?" If he was going to be grounded he might as well get himself something to pass the time with. Maybe he would be "lucky" and accidently find a Leitner. And if they could stay in the general area of the Institute while shopping it would be even better.

"Hm... There's this little quaint one not far from here. But don't you want to go sight seeing?"

"I'd rather read a good book."

Michael laughed. "Yeah alright."

Jon was able to drag Gertrudes softest assistant through five bookshops in the area before Michael made halting attempts to get him toward the train station. By that time Jon had found one interesting book and had developed a killer headache from constantly screaming at Elias to notice him. What were those two doing for so long?! He thought Lukases were supposed to despise being in the presence of others.

He thought he might have fallen asleep on the train. He couldn't have been sure. There were no nightmares of statements and no dreams, just a gentle stream of memories that weren't his own. Jon came back to a hand gently shaking him and a worried voice breaking through the screams of a child running from a hunter.

"Jon? Jon! There you are. Hey you okay? Can you hear me again?"

Jon was twisted to the side so Michael could look at his face. "'M fine. Think I slept."

"Your eyes were open."

"Yeah... I do that sometimes."

"Are you sure? Do you want to go to the hospital? Is that even the right place to contact for this?" Michael whispered the last question to himself, voice climbing higher in pitch.

"I'm fine. It's really just a thing. I'm tired."

Michael let out a deep sigh. "Okay. Uh- if you... I mean if you're sure, then. Yeah you'll tell me if somethings wrong though, yeah? Our next stop is ours. You'll have to lead from there."

"I'll do that."

"Good. You're really brave, you know that?"

Jon scoffed. "Maybe."

The short few minutes that they had left of the train ride were spent in silence, Jon leaning back into Michaels side, closing his eyes this time. Michael had his arm slung around him in a protective grip, rubbing his arm up and down. It helped to keep the trembling at bay. He didn't like not seeing anything and he was still hesitant to open his other eyes after Gertrude, scared that she might somehow be able to watch him.

His grandmother was as thrilled to see him as Jon had expected. She was by no means violent, her disapproval didn't need any touch. Michael did his best to calm the waves, but Jon could see that he was intimidated by her. Mrs. Sims didn't play frail old lady like Gertrude did. She stood tall like a brick wall and acted just as cold and indifferent.

Jon weathered the thorough dressing down he got from her after Michael had left with an awkward wave and concered frown. He only half listened anyway already all eyes open and searching, Beholding whispering trivia into his ear.

He gladly went to his room without supper, head feeling stuffed and legs wobbly. What was not really sleep, but the closest he could probably get to after his nap on the train, came to him as he continued to stare at the ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael was a sweetheart before the Spiral ate him, change my mind.


	3. Chapter 3

Jon remembered school in small bits and pieces, names and dates sometimes flashing up in the quiet moments of his life. He'd known it wouldn't be pleasant to revisit. He hadn't had the worst school life, but not many fond memories of the place either.

He had been prepared for the boredom. He had not been prepared for the rage that came with every new wrong fact hurled in his direction. Jon was a being of truth, of revealed secrets. He could stomach stories because they were intended to warp reality but always carried a piece from the author within them. He couldn't, however, stand the litany of false information being taught to children with the pure confidence of blissful ignorance.

The worst thing was that some teachers seemed to use the lies as a _teaching method_ wasting hours upon hours on false facts only to drop the act twelve lessons in and telling their students to forget everything they had been told the last few weeks.

Jon wanted to shake them and yell at them to stop being so bloody _unproductive_. They were wasting everyones time. Most of all Jons, who had better things to do than sit in an uncomfortable chair all day and look occupied. No wonder there were so many bullies around, Jon noted grimmly. This aweful everyday life would drive everyone to their boiling point.

More times than he could count in the first week had he stomped down the urge to cause a supernatural intervention or two. Although people had already been creeped out plenty by his bracelet.

His freetime wasn't much brighter. His grandmother had grounded him for the unforseeable future and had taken most of his books away to "teach him some restraint". The one he had gotten from Michael and had hidden under the floorboards beneath his bed was quickly read through and after that there was nothing much in the house he could occupy himself with.

"At least you guys keep spawning." Jon told the whirring tape recorder in front of him. "I always thought better out loud. Although I'm starting to run out of hiding room for you. Maybe I should sell you at school or something. Or open up an online business. No I don't have a computer yet. And I doubt people would want to buy old tape recorders. Do you despawn, too? No. You never did, I think. Would have been terrible for my imagined business."

Jon sighed and fell back against his bed. It was a saturday, his grandmother was out and had locked the house and Jon had nothing to do. He had tried over and over again to contact Elias. Mentally screamed his head off trying to reach him. The only thing that had brought him was a migraine that made him so sick that his gran had decided to let him stay at home on thursday and friday.

So young and already experiencing unimaginable pain. The joys of a second, eldritch power induced childhood.

The pain had eased off now and he felt ready to be productive again. Only there was nothing he could be productive about, being an eight year old stuck at home with no resources.

Jon gazed out the window, longing to go outside.

_I could just climb out._

He hummed. Yes. He could do that. A quick check told him that his gran was at a friends house, watching TV, knitting and talking. She would be busy for a long time. If he checked occasionally where she was maybe he could slip out of the window in the kitchen and crawl back in before she got home.

Jon debated the pros and cons for a moment, deciding that a second dressing down was better than sitting in his room and wasting away. What else was she going to do? Ground him again?

Not being the most athletic, he fell out the window and into the flowerbed beneath on his first try, scowling down at the now dirty clothing he would need to hide and then secretly wash out.

Whelp. He was free now. His first instinct was to go to the beach. Water had always calmed him, cleared his head. Jon choose a spot far away from the other people. One that wasn't exactly pretty, cluttered with trash and green with seaweed. But the waves lapped at the stones either way and the seagulls screamed overhead and that was all Jon wished for.

Jon watched the seaweed dance with the current as his thoughts drifted. He needed a reason to get back to the Institute. To get to Elias, possibly without running into Gertrude again. And he needed to save Michael. Michael was helpful and nice and reminded Jon of Martin when he had first started out as an archival assistant. He didn't deserve to be eaten by the Spiral.

He needed another statement.

~~~

Bournemouth was a quiet town. In his few short years as archivist Jon had only ever read one statement originating there. Surely though the supernatural wouldn't be too picky about locations. There just weren't that many people who survived their first encounter. Right? Wrong.

Even when looking with his Beholding powers Jon didn't find a spec of the fear gods' influence in the parameter that he was able to search. Oh there was a lot of trauma. A lot of marked people. It was easy to lean into one fear or another. Loneliness, rage, fear of darkness and sickness. They were all too common. And humans were so, so good at making each others lives hell, too. Jons head swam with the painful stories of the people he passed on the streets. Unforgiving parents, cheating partners, broken friendships, they all poured into his head, making his mouth water.

But Jon held firm. He couldn't feed now. He hoped he wouldn't need it, either. That skimming off the top would be enough. That the whispers of stories was to him like the smell of freshly baked bread. He hadn't felt hungry in the weeks he had spent in this young body of his. Not in any sense other than perfectly human. Jon hoped it would stay like this.

Weekends were spend travelling as much as possible on foot, chasing gossip about monsters. Once in a while he remembered to eat. Sometimes he would even cook a half decent breakfast, if only to give his grandmother the illusion of living in the house with her.

He had tried coffee once, thinking it would help to keep him on his feet. Jon had decided to ignore the drink until after he had hit puperty when he woke on the couch in the living room with his heart racing and sweating profusely. The crash after the high hadn't been worth it.

Two and a half weeks and three hours with nothing to show for his research was when he hit his limit. It made him desperate enough to leave early after his gran was barely out of the house and steal onto the train to London without a ticket. If he couldn't go back to the Institute without a statement than he would just visit Elias in his damn house.

It was a surprise to find out that Elias didn't live in a mansion. Jon had been prepared to walk to the edge of London and into some dark forest or another. He had imagined Jonahs residence to be on top of a hill overlooking the city, hidden away from view like a proper supervillain hideout. And Jon Knew that Jonah did in fact own a building that came close to that description. Elias didn't live there though.

The Head of the Institute resided in an expensive apartment complex in the middle of London, close enough to the Institute that he could walk.

And he wasn't there.

Jon was close to screaming. The one time he needed Elias to be there! No wait that wasn't that new actually. Thank the fear gods that Martin had showed him how to pick locks. Jon had no desire to try another time. He would bunker down in Elias' flat until the man deigned to come back.

The door was easy to open. Not because Jon was especially skilled and more because Jonah was an old fashioned, sentimental fool who had never thought about installing proper locks. The inside made Jons child heart beat higher. There was so much to look at, to explore and Jon had no qualms of disrespecting personal space.

He could feel the judgemental gaze of his bracelet as he stumbled in and made a beeline for where he knew the living room would be. Elias' apartment was a mirror to the institute in style. Victorian with a dash of technology. It had a very dark academia vibe. There were no doors and not many walls. It was an open floorplan with a freestanding, winding staircase leading up to a loft.

From the right angle you could glimpse into every room, the few walls only there to create an illusion of seperate rooms. Large windows with space enough to sit in front of them filled the flat with light. Only the bathroom allowed for privacy.

A big grandfathers clock stood in the living room and steadily ticked away. The room was cluttered with little trinkets, old writing utensils and books that Jon took in his hands and flipped through one by one. It was homey. Much more so than Jons own home. And it was clean. Which either meant that Elias took good care of it or that he had a house maid of some kind.

He had hired a cleaning firm. Beholding whispered to him. They would come every monday and friday, when Elias was out to tidy everything up and Elias would watch from the portraits hanging on the walls to make sure they did it right and didn't steal anything. Slacker.

At least Jon wouldn't have to worry about them for the next two days. Eagerly he explored the flat, opening drawers, logging onto Elias laptop to see what he had there (mostly spreadsheets, the big bore) and finally found Jonahs journals in the bedroom, which was the only closed up room beside the bathroom, securely hidden in a trunk with a second floor.

Jon took one at random and padded back into the living room, throwing the handmade blanket over his shoulders and leant back to read.

"You're a horribly dull author."

Elias froze in the door, arm halfway out the sleeve of his jacket. Jon had felt him coming. He had wanted to keep quiet, wait until Elias noticed him, but the thought had nagged at him for over an hour now and he just had to let it out.

"Don't read my journals then."

Jon snapped the book shut and gently laid it on the table. He twisted to face Elias, who had gotten over his shock and stripped out of his coat and shoes.

"I'm literally right in front of you would you just use your two human eyes and not glare into my back?"

"Hmmm. Such a young Avatar. **What do you want from me?** "

Jon shivered as the compulsion ran down his spine. He hadn't known Elias could do that. Had thought the skill to be useless when Elias could just pluck the knowledge from a persons head. It was such a strong pull, too. Nothing as subtle as Gertrude had used on him.

It was a good thing that Jon had wanted to be honest about the whole end of the world thing. Trying to resist the pull would have been highly unpleasant.

"I want your support in keeping the world as it is. As is our god wishes."

" **What are you?** "

"I am the Archive. A being you created. I was hired as Head Archivist in 2015 after you shot Gertrude for trying to burn down the Archives. You proceeded to manipulate me into being marked by all 14 entities and then had me perform the Watchers Crown, bringing all the fear gods into our world with the Ceaseless Watcher ruling over them all. But Jonah everything went wrong and neither of us got what we wanted. It was just horrible all around. For them, for us and the Eye grew bored and the End came closer in consuming us all. You can Look, if you'd like. It was a thing of beauty for us at first, I won't lie. Despite how much I hated it I couldn't stop experiencing, looking, marvelling. But it turns rotten. It was a mistake. Not worth all the sacrifices. Which is why I came back. I need you to work with me in serving our god. And in turn I will make sure that it won't replace you with me."

Jon felt Elias' fear even while the man in front of him looked put together if a little stiff. There was terror in his eyes and yet Jon felt the prodding in his mind. Gingerly he let Elias open the door to his memories of the apocalypse.

It crashed open and both landed on the floor screaming.

Two Avatars of the eye having a simultanous breakdown was not a good thing. The air filled with static so much it became tangible and somewhere in the furthest corner of Jons overflowing mind he knew that the people in a 30 mile radius would be having nightmares of this day for the rest of their lifes.

Jon didn't have the energy or mind space to care. His body was on fire, old scars that weren't there throbbing and stabbing at him, driving the pain deep into his bones, through his physical body and into his soul. He couldn't see and he saw too much. Awareness gone from this timeline.

He couldn't stop experiencing. But it was too much. Far, far too much. This body wasn't yet made to hold such huge amounts of information. The world wasn't ready for it, with no eye in the sky.

When Jon finally came around he laid on the floor next to the couch, in a puddle of ink, static crackling gently around him. Elias sat in the armchair with a mug of herbal tea looking a bit worse for wear. How long he had watched Jon writhe in agony only the Eye knew.

Trembling, limbs barely functional, Jon sat up, thankful that the carpet had soaked up most of the liquid that had come from his eyes and mouth. He was completely drenched in the dark stuff. Great. Another pair of clothes he would have to hide.

"You saw?" Jon tried to ask, but all that came out was static. He coughed feebly more ink spilling from his lips.

"There's water on the table for you. And a rag to clean up a bit."

Elias didn't make any move to help Jon, eyes steadily following him. Jon Knew he was grossed out by the mess he had made and wasn't all too happy about the ruined carpet and floorboards. Most of all though Jon Knew that Elias didn't trust that his legs would carry him. He had just about managed to make tea and get into his armchair. He too had leftover tracks from black tears on his cheeks.

A gentle lull of static stayed in the air while Jon and Elias tried to compose themselves. Jon stayed on the floor, hands cradled around his glass of water, resting against the sturdy coffee table. He was tired now and hurting all over. His mouth tasted horrible. He felt dirty. And yet he just wanted to go to sleep.

"You are not getting on the couch like this." Elias whispered, own voice rough from the screaming.

"Get out of my head." Jons voice crackled.

"Get in the bathroom."

"Can't stand yet."

Elias huffed, but didn't say anything else. His mind was probably racing. Jon felt his fear. He didn't need to Look to know that he was on the edge of an existencial crisis. 200 years serving their god, one successful ritual and the Eye still would have let him be killed. That's what serving a fear god would get you. Not that those entities had any idea what loyality was.

Eventually Elias stood and went over to an old fashioned cable phone that hung on the wall. "I'm going to order us something. Go clean up in the meantime."

Jon stuck his tongue out at him, but heaved himself up nonetheless and limped into the bathroom. There was a huge corner tub there that Jon sat in to shower off, mourning the lost opportunity to take a bath. He didn't think he would stay awake long enough to not drown.

The ruined clothes he chucked into a corner not in the mood to be tidy. That left him with only one big towel to wrap himself in and his underwear. It wasn't ideal, but then Elias already Knew him. There was nothing he needed to hide.

He'll have another opinion about that in the morning, he was sure.

"Sorry for getting you dirty." Jon whispered to the eye in his bracelet.

It couldn't blink the stains away so it had tried to shake the ink off with erratic movements. It didn't do much so Jon had to rinse it clean. He wondered if it hurt, hoped it didn't. The spider silk was tinted a bluish black now and wouldn't change to white again no matter how hard Jon scrubbed.

When Jon came back out of the bathroom the kitchen table was set and a variety of food stuff was placed on the cutlery.

"You bought cake?"

Elias hummed around the fork full of rich chocolate and Jon had to let out a little laugh at that. It seemed not even the high and mighty Jonah Magnus was above comfort food. Jon used up some of his last reserves to hop up on one of the comfy chairs. His plate was already full with noodles in plain tomato sauce and with an abundance of cheese on top. A true kids meal.

Jon took a tentative bite unsure if his stomach would welcome the food or not. And when it went down nicely Jon noticed how hungry he truly was. He was nearly done with his plate when the cramps started and he choked.

Wide eyed he stared at Elias, whose satisfied smirk quickly vanished when the same symptoms started happening to him. Jon slipped off the chair and crashed to the floor, gagging and convulsing once again in pain and disorientated.

Elias got to him, reaching out to heave him upright. Jon flinched away from the hands, but ultimately was too weak to fend them off when they slipped a vial between his lips. The Beholding told him to swallow and he did, trusting the fear god more than its high priest.

The antidote worked as quick as the poison, which was to say not quick enough to not wring the last shreds of energy he had kept. He didn't mind slipping into darkness at all. Anything to escape the pain.

He woke with a groan in Elias' bed, with Elias sitting beside his curled up body writing in one of his journals.

"Bastard."

"Language."

"You tried to poison me!"

"That's really on you. You Know me. You should have at least checked."

Jon buried deeper into the covers with a pout. "Have you met me? No, no you really didn't. Good thing _someone_ made sure you have a reason to keep me alive. What did you think you'd accomplish with that anyway? I was clear we were to be allies!"

Elias sighed and closed his journal. "You are awefully chatty for someone who just nearly died."

Sitting up Jon shrugged. "Honestly? I've had worse. And it did knock me out well enough. Is the sandwich there also poisoned or edible?"

Jon flinched when a noise came from the living room, instinctively opening his other eyes to Watch, who was there. Elias had apparently called upon the cleaning company to get rid of the stains. A young man was cursing up a storm trying to get rid of them. Huh, that's why they were both in bed then.

He wrinkled his nose at the realization. "You're a creep."

Elias gave him a pleasant smile that spoke of mirth. "I live here. The sandwich is save by the way. I'm not going to sabotage myself."

"You mean again? Also that's debatable."

"Eat your food, Jonathan."

Still famished Jon took a bite, mumbling "Don't tell me what to do."

Drained beyond belief Jon slid back under the covers once he was done and dozed until Elias was called back into the living room to pay the man for his trouble. Which was probably far less than the man deserved.

In the meantime Jon snagged one of Elias'es botton ups to throw over himself, bundling up in the thick blanket afterwards. He padded into the freshly cleaned room just when Elias closed the front door again, grinning at Elias displeased look.

"That's mine."

"Do you have childrens clothes? No, I thought so."

He took over the couch again, arranging the pillows and other blanket into a little nest for himself keeping at least two eyes on Elias at all times. The man in question had gone to make tea. Oolong. Ugh Martin would be so mad at that.

"Are you amendable to talk now? Or are you already scheming?" Jon asked as the kettle began to bubble.

"One second."

Elias came back with two mugs, turning back to get some milk and honey as well. Once he too had settled into his armchair did he wave his hand. "Now."

Jon added two spoons of honey and enough milk to nearly make the mug overflow. "Great. So how much did you see when you opened the door?"

The colour that had come back to Elias' face vanished again and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Enough."

"Good. Then we can both say that ending the world is a big no, no."

"Hmhm. It's a good thing the Eye agrees."

"Quite. And we also established that killing me would also result in your end. So you'd better not do that either."

"I figured." Elias grumbled into his tea.

Jon sighed. " _Jonah_. I don't plan on replacing you. I hate you. You are a horrible man. But there is no reason to... no there are many reasons for me to fight you."

"How reassuring." Elias commented drily.

"I don't _want_ to fight you, is the thing. It would cause more grief than good. We're both working towards the same goal now. It would be arrogant of me to put my longing for revenge over the wellbeing of my friends and others."

"How noble of you. I see why I choose you as the Archivist."

"Fuck you."

That got him a glare. Jon opened all his eyes and glared right back. Elias was not phased. Static once again filled the air. Elias blinked first. Mostly because he still needed to do that and only had those two functioning eyes.

"What do you propose?"

Jon took a sip from his tea in thought. "I'm not quite sure? I want to have access to the Archive, I think. Get to know Michael and Gertrude and Gerry. Make sure everyone stays alive. Other than that I guess it's business as usual? Until I'm old enough to take over the position as Archivist again."

"So we feed our god, meddle with the other rituals to make sure no one else catches on how to actually end the world and keep death away from me."

"You can't escape the End forever, Jonah. It comes for all of us eventually."

"I'll try. And I'll succeed."

Jon sighed. "Of course. But yes that's ultimately it? And as long as you stay out of my business and don't hurt the people under my protection I won't meddle with your plans. Deal?"

Elias nodded. "For now."

"Great."

**[click]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what you get when you try too hard to make a character who doesn't give two shits about anyones lifes in canon into a somewhat caring father figure. Which is to say Elias needed a push or two. Good thing Annabelle has the brain cells.
> 
> Good luck keeping the self destructing, all knowing kid from accidently killing himself. Hah.


End file.
